


i know codependency has dragged me out (but i really don't think that's what this is about)

by despitethewives (choirboyharem)



Category: Video Blogging RPF, supermega
Genre: Friends With Benefits, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Possibly Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 20:42:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28534596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/choirboyharem/pseuds/despitethewives
Summary: “Don’t worry about it,” Ryan says kindly, reaching over to ruffle Matt’s hair, partially out of affection and partially because he knows Matt’s going to hate him for it. And he’s right. Matt shoves Ryan’s hand away and finger-combs his bangs back in place. “I’m serious, just let it go. Every single person on the planet has had weird hookups before.”“Yeah, I know. I’ll forget about it. It’s whatever.” Matt curls his fingers around Ryan’s wrist, suddenly wanting him back. He presses his mouth against the inside of Ryan’s palm and kisses it because he likes the sound it makes.
Relationships: Ryan Magee/Matt Watson
Comments: 8
Kudos: 47





	i know codependency has dragged me out (but i really don't think that's what this is about)

**Author's Note:**

> i don't even remotely know what's going on anymore; this is one of those long and meandering and weird train-of-thought fics. also posting two fics in a row where they fuck in a car is entirely a coincidence. i just like fucking in cars because i'm an art student and i listen to indie music. 
> 
> the title is from 'pumpkin' by the regrettes.

Matt realizes that he’s in too deep when he can’t get it up with a girl that he knows he’d ordinarily find attractive.

She looks lost. “Is there, like… anything you want me to do?” she asks, holding Matt’s soft cock in her hand. “Is there something weird that gets you off?” 

There’s a lot, admittedly, but Matt isn’t ready to try any of them because he doubts that that’s the problem. “Uh, no. No. I don’t know. I’m sorry.” And he is. Genuinely. The girl (Amy, maybe? Amber?) looks crushed. But he still can’t force that pathetic indifference out of his voice. “I am. This doesn’t really happen. Not to me.” 

She sits back at the other end of the bed. “So it’s just me, right? It’s me?” She looks miserable and self-defeating and it absolutely sucks, because she’s really, really pretty. She has long, dark hair, rich, brown eyes, and soft, slim, small deerlike limbs with minimal curves. She’s gorgeous and Matt should want her. He _should._ But he doesn’t. 

“No. I swear, no, it’s not.” Matt rubs his eyes behind his glasses. “I don’t know what my problem is.” 

“It’s okay,” she says softly. “I get it.” She bites her lip and gets to her feet, snapping her bra strap back over her shoulder. “Are you, like, not into girls or something?”

“No, I am, I like girls. I’ve always liked girls.” Which isn’t a lie. And that’s what makes this so frustrating. “Maybe I’m just not in the mood or something.” 

“Sure.” She pulls her sweater over her head and slips her phone back into her pocket. “I hope you figure out whatever’s wrong.”

“Yeah, um, me too. Thanks, Amy.”

“It’s Andrea.”

 _Fuck._ “Andrea, right, shit, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Could I walk you down?” 

“No, it’s okay, I got it. Good night.” 

Matt tries to tell Andrea the same thing, but the hotel room door clicks shut in the middle of it. Matt’s voice dies in his throat. 

He takes his glasses off and sets them on the bedside table before he rolls onto his stomach, groaning low and bitter into the pillow. He’s naked from the waist down, feeling empty and useless, heavy with rot. He feels like less than nothing and there’s not a word for less than nothing, because ‘nothing’ is supposed to be the end-all-be-all. 

It’s a long time before Matt turns right side up again. It’s probably a lot less time than it feels, but he knows it’s long enough to start feeling freezing cold in the overzealous air-conditioning. He puts his glasses back on and reaches for his phone. 

It’s the third contact in his Recents tab. Matt stabs at it and swallows hard, shutting his eyes as he brings his phone to his ear. 

It takes about three rings for Ryan to pick up. “Yeah?” he says, muffled, sounding like his mouth is full of something. 

“Hey, I, uh.” Matt feels a terrible tightness in his chest that he can’t rid himself of. It’s like he’s having an anxiety attack, but without any of the hyperventilation or tears. It just hurts and it pulls these sinewy lines in his ribcage taut, like someone is twisting them around the bones. He’s likely to snap. “What are you doing right now?”

“I dunno.” Ryan crunches something and Matt knows he’s smacking his lips on purpose. “Snack before bed. Might go to CVS to grab some shit. Wanna come?” 

“No. I-I mean—I would, but I can’t. I’m in, like, a hotel right now.”

“Okay,” Ryan says. Matt can see the living confusion on his face. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Matt tells him honestly. “I made a mistake. I thought that this was something I needed, but…” He doesn’t know how to explain himself without admitting something so much bigger than himself that he doesn't want to admit to. “...are you in your bedroom right now?”

“No. I can be, though. Gimme a sec.” He hears Ryan say something to someone in the background and Matt doesn’t pay attention to it because he’s too busy feeling his heart soar at the loyalty. It’s implicit and it’s all he needs. 

He hears the click of the door on the other end of the line. “You okay?” Ryan asks him. He sounds conversational, but Matt can still hear the concern under his tone. 

“No.” Matt’s chest still hurts. It’s almost like heartburn. “I feel fucking, like. I don’t know, man, broken, I guess. That’s the only word for it.”

“Did something happen? Can I come pick you up or anything? Did you drive there?”

Matt thinks this over as he drags his hand through his hair. Frizzy little licks of blond stand on end between his fingers. “Maybe. I—no, yeah, actually. You could come get me. If you’re not planning on going to bed.”

“Nah, I wasn’t. I can come get you if you need me to. How far away is it?”

“From your place? Like, twenty minutes with traffic, I think.”

“Yeah, just text me the address. I am gonna stop at CVS for real, though. Lego chewed up my toothbrush.” 

“What a little fucking dick.”

“Yeah. You want anything?”

“We can stop on the way back.” Matt scratches his stomach, his unfocused eyes making shapes in the ceiling. “Think I’ll decide on the way.” 

* * *

Waiting in a hotel lobby for anyone is always a special kind of anxious loneliness, but the sequence of tonight’s events just amplify it to the nth degree. Matt feels looked at and out of place, crumpled against the far corner of a wooden bench. He’s jittery and the receptionist must think he’s on crack because she won’t take her eyes off him. Given the fact that he’s checking back out of a room after checking in an hour ago, he doesn’t really blame her for being confused and concerned. 

She’s apparently _so_ concerned that when there’s a lull in foot traffic, she steps out from behind the desk. “Hey, hon, could I call someone for you?” 

Matt realizes how young he looks right now in his jacket, huddled and skinny and small with his bangs falling over his face. Maybe she thinks he’s on heroin instead of crack on account of his shockingly frail body. Either that or she thinks he’s twelve. He doesn’t know which scenario is more or less appealing. 

“Ah, no, thanks, I’m waiting for someone already. I’m okay.”

“You sure?” The receptionist looks very mom-ish, early forties, her hair pinned up into a bun, her makeup neutral and sensible. Makes sense that she’d want to check on him. 

“Yeah. Yeah, don’t worry, everything’s fine. Just a misunderstanding earlier. I got a friend coming.”

“Good. It’s late. Getting cold, too,” the receptionist adds, casting a brief glance out one of the floor-to-ceiling windows like she’s expecting snow. It’s below forty, but Matt thinks they’re not due snow for another year judging by the average. “Wanna make sure that you’re getting taken care of.” 

Matt half-smiles. “Yeah, I am. He’s coming. I’ll be alright.” 

And by saying that aloud, Matt’s ready to believe it. 

* * *

It’s not that Matt doesn’t appreciate the kindness of the receptionist. She’s sweet. But he does end up trembling and toeing a crack in the walkway outside rather than waiting inside. Snow doesn’t actually seem like it’s outside the realm of possibility. It’d just be another thing to add to unnatural events that were forcing him into miniature existential crises. 

Matt’s phone buzzes: _Pulling in rn._

He warms up immediately when he sees Ryan’s car, but it’s still not enough to heat his bones. He’s freezing to death. He rips open the passenger door and scrambles inside the car like he’s escaping a shootout. 

“Jesus, I thought I was gonna die out there,” he says, shuddering as he reaches for the heat. Ryan, the human space heater with actual meat on his bones, doesn’t have it nearly hot enough in the car despite the fact that he _should,_ because he’s underdressed for the weather. Matt genuinely worries about him sometimes. 

“What, did they kick you out of the hotel? What the fuck did you do?” 

“Nah, the receptionist thought I was on crack or something. She was nosy. I needed to get outta there.” Matt buckles his seatbelt before curling up, hugging his knees to his chest. “Nothing happened. It was… disappointing, I guess. It was just a really disappointing and weird kind of experience.” 

“You wanna tell me about it?” Ryan asks, his tone pointedly patient as he pulls out of the parking lot, side-eyeing Matt. 

“I tried to go on a date,” Matt mutters. “Or, like, not even a date. It wasn’t a date. It was a hookup with multiple steps involved.” 

Ryan’s quiet for a second, more than likely just processing the information. “So what happened?” 

“Nothing. That’s what happened. Absolutely nothing. We got to the hotel room and we just… didn’t do anything. We couldn’t. I didn’t—” Matt swallows, unable to really delve into the details. “It didn’t work out. I thought I was into her, but I wasn’t. She left and that’s when I called you.” 

“What’d she look like?”

“No, see, that didn’t have anything to do with it, because she was hot. Like, she was really, genuinely attractive, I _knew_ she was attractive, but we just couldn’t make it work.”

Ryan snickers, looking at the road. “She said no, didn’t she?”

“No! No, it wasn’t like that, she’s the one who wanted it, but I—” Matt cuts himself off, but what’s even the point anymore? 

“But _you_ didn’t,” Ryan graciously finishes for him. “So she wasn’t your type after all. So what? That’s fine. What’s it matter?” 

Matt can’t tell Ryan why it matters, because he doesn’t want to say why it matters. If it matters at all, Matt’s going to have to be honest with himself and that’s just not something he’s comfortable doing and he never has been. He won’t say why it matters and he won’t even think about it, let alone voice it. So it doesn’t matter. Matt can let Ryan be right and agree that no, it doesn’t matter at all. She wasn’t his type. 

Matt’s usually comfortable with letting Ryan be right (not when they’re recording, obviously, but about serious shit). He’s comfortable with letting Ryan put words in his mouth because he trusts Ryan more than he trusts himself. More than anything, he wishes he were the man that Ryan seems to think he is, so he can let Ryan think that he is, in fact, that man. He’s fine with pretending that he’s Ryan’s instead of his own person. It’s never stopped him before. 

At the end of the day, Matt’s always trusted Ryan to take care of him. He’s always sure that he’s getting taken care of. 

“Yeah. I don’t know. It just sucked. I went into another one of those _‘What the fuck is wrong with me?’_ spirals and it just kept going. I didn’t know what to do.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Ryan says kindly, reaching over to ruffle Matt’s hair, partially out of affection and partially because he knows Matt’s going to hate him for it. And he’s right. Matt shoves Ryan’s hand away and finger-combs his bangs back in place. “I’m serious, just let it go. Every single person on the planet has had weird hookups before.” 

“Yeah, I know. I’ll forget about it. It’s whatever.” Matt curls his fingers around Ryan’s wrist, suddenly wanting him back. He presses his mouth against the inside of Ryan’s palm and kisses it because he likes the sound it makes. 

* * *

“You want anything?” Ryan asks as he cuts the engine. They’re at Walgreens, not CVS, but the Walgreens was on the way anyway. Same difference. 

“Uh… Sour Patch Kids. And White Claw.” 

“What flavor?”

“They're all kind of the same. Except for the pomegranate one; that one tastes like shit. Anything but the pomegranate.” 

“You got it.” Ryan curls his hand around Matt’s neck and gives him a kiss on the corner of his mouth before opening the driver’s door. He’s being especially charitable and Matt beams with it, feeling the tightness in his chest evaporate entirely. 

Matt thinks he’s going to try to say something before Ryan closes the door, but it doesn’t make it out. Not even half of the sentence this time. 

* * *

“Kiss me?” Matt asks hopefully the second Ryan comes back, shopping bag in hand. 

“Sure, buddy. Even though you already got one, need I remind you.” Ryan drops the bag on the center console and cradles Matt’s cheek in his hand, leaning in to give him a real kiss this time, soft and lingering. 

When Ryan tries to pull away, Matt doesn’t let go, gripping his shirt collar. Ryan applies a little bit of force and gently pries Matt’s fingers off. “Hey, okay, you got it already. Relax.”

“Another one?” Matt asks, his voice slightly broken. 

“Dude, come on,” Ryan says with a sad kind of smile, like Matt is a mentally-deficient puppy or something, inherently pitiable. Maybe he is, maybe he’s both of those things, but it still feels mean to treat him like it. “I know you need a pick-me-up, man, I get it, and we’re gonna get you one. You’ll sleep over. Share my bed. Get breakfast with me. Lego can chew up _your_ toothbrush. I’ll give you another kiss.” 

“You could just give me one now. That way it’s not an obligation.” 

“You’re really not okay, are you?”

“I don’t know, no, maybe I’m not,” Matt says impatiently. “Can you let me worry about that later? I just need this. I won’t ask for anything else.”

Ryan sighs. “You’re a real needy little fuck, you know that?” He kisses Matt again, slipping a hand around to the back of his head. Matt makes a little sound into it, something like a soft whine as he clutches the solidness of Ryan’s shoulders. 

Thank God that Ryan doesn’t break it off. He seems like he’s giving in as Matt clings to him, washing the taste of Andrea out of his own mouth, easily forgetting the unfamiliarity and the discomfort of it all. This is so normal that Matt can’t even think about how normal it actually is. 

The scary part is that Matt was just looking to prove a point to himself and he couldn’t manage to do that. No, he _can’t_ separate Ryan from himself long enough to focus on someone else, not even for just one night, and that is shatteringly, heartbreakingly pathetic. There’s not a lot else that Matt will admit to, but he has to realize, stark and unabashed, that if Ryan had been in that girl’s place, the whole night would’ve been completely different. It has been before and it will be again. 

“Can we get in the backseat?” Matt whispers into Ryan’s neck, chasing his pulse point, dragging a hand down the back of his shirt. “Please, Ryan? Please? Please, please, please—”

“Jesus Christ, Matt, for fuck’s sake,” Ryan manages, but he doesn’t say no. He hisses when Matt nips the soft skin on his throat that Matt has committed to memory. It’s next to a tendon and under his Adam’s apple and Matt has to turn his head in just the right way to get to it, especially when he doesn’t have a lot of range of motion. 

“I’ll buy breakfast. It’s all on me. I just need this,” Matt begs quietly, nosing Ryan’s neck like the mentally-deficient puppy he is. _“Please.”_

* * *

“My car’s not big enough for your gangly-ass legs.” 

“I didn’t ask for any crazy position. Or any position at all, actually.” 

“You went there, not me. I’m just saying that, in general, your gangly-ass legs don’t fit back here. They’re gonna go through the roof.” Ryan pulls Matt’s second shoe off and drops it to the floor. “Your legs are gonna fuck up my car.”

“Maybe you should get a bigger car,” Matt replies, lifting up his narrow hips to shove his jeans down. 

“I’m not getting a bigger car just for your legs. That’s on you.” Ryan, the fucker, takes off the shorts, but not the slides. It’s not that it changes the experience, really; it cheapens it, though. As if something like this can possibly be cheapened any more than it already is. The Walgreens is closed and the glow of the sign mingled with the streetlights light them up in a dim, stagnant orange. 

“You want me to get leg surgery just for your car?”

“Just in general. I think you deserve to be a few inches shorter.” Ryan pulls Matt onto his lap like he weighs nothing. Matt positively delights in being so easily manhandled by Ryan when he lets himself be held and they’re not in the middle of a fight or anything. Matt likes being a damsel. Being the girl, as it were. Sure, that’s homophobic, whatever, but is it homophobic if you’re not actually gay? 

It probably still is. Matt doesn’t think he’s educated enough to make a guess. 

His roots are still sensitive from the bleach job and it makes him shudder when Ryan pulls at them, sending a wonderful shock of pleasurepain down his spine. Matt twitches and moans as Ryan fists their cocks together in his other hand, catching Matt’s lip between his teeth and sucking. 

“I love you, I love you so fucking much,” Matt gasps when they separate, knocking Ryan’s hat off so he can knot his fingers through dark hair, the _right_ dark hair, endlessly thick and curling around Matt’s hands. “God, I—”

“Matt, shut the fuck up.” Ryan strokes his fist up and Matt does as he’s told. 

* * *

“It’s snowing,” Ryan mumbles.

“Huh?” Matt can’t lift his head from the crook of Ryan’s neck. It’s so warm and safe. 

“It’s snowing. Look.” 

Matt fully believes that it’s just a cheap ploy to make him leave, but he forces himself to look out the window anyway. Ryan is right. 

“Holy shit, you’re right. Oh my God.” Matt laughs and buries his face back in the safe place. “Thought you were fucking with me. Tryin’ to make me get off.”

“I am. Look, Matt, it’s snowing. Get up and look at it.” Ryan nudges him. “Let’s go look at the snow.” 

_“Let’s”_ is what makes Matt get up rather than _“go look at the snow”._ He pushes himself away from Ryan and feels around for his jeans. “I seriously will buy breakfast,” he says, glancing at Ryan as he picks his clothes up off the floor of the car. “Like, whatever you want.”

“I know you will,” Ryan says, throwing Matt’s jacket at him. “It’s fine.”

And, just like that, it is. Because it always is. They don’t have to talk. They just have to… be. 

The sky is tangerine with winter cloud cover. The flakes are small and they dissolve as soon as they come in contact with anything solid. Matt forgets how cold it is and he stares into the clouds, blinking whenever the snow pelts his glasses. 

“Has it snowed any other time that we’ve lived in L.A. so far?” Ryan asks, making Matt jump a little. He’s looking into the sky too, looking for the same thing that Matt is. Something bigger than the both of them. 

“I guess not. I was thinking earlier about the five-year average. Maybe I counted wrong and we were due for it anyway.”

“Or it’s climate change.”

“You know that’s not real, right?”

Ryan grins at him. “Yeah, I dunno what I was thinking.” He slips his arm around Matt’s waist, leaning his head against his shoulder. “Hey, you know what, thanks for having a shitty night and telling me to come get you.” 

“Thanks for coming to get me.” Matt’s vision goes a little hazy from the snowfall on his glasses. “And for—for everything.”

“I said it’s fine. Don’t mention it.” 

The snow makes everything feel so quiet and sacred. Matt doesn’t want to ruin it, so he listens to Ryan and he doesn’t mention it. He doesn’t think. 

Like he said, he trusts Ryan more than he trusts himself. 


End file.
